Showers of Aquamarine
by Little Damaris
Summary: Silver and green and yellow and black. Really, they are the worst colours to pair together, ever, in the history of all that is magical.
1. silver and green and yellow and black

Disclaimer: I am not an immensely wealthy British authoress, nor am I magical.

Silver_ and_ green and yellow _and_ black.

Really, they are the worst colours to pair together,_ ever_, in the history of all that is magical, and yet here they are, holding hands, as if they are a _couple_ (they are, aren't they, maybe it's better if they're not?) and people are snickering, they're shocked _even_, and she can't help but feel a bit of pride.

Because, she's a _Black_, but she's also secretly giddy to see his messy blonde curls glow in the sunset, to know that beacon of a smile directed only at her. It makes her long to scoff in their faces, and say, "You see? It really _doesn't_ matter; love and hate are found everywhere, don't you _get_ it?" She's _actually _figured it out, and no other Black _has_.

But then there's that steely glint in her sister's eyes and she knows she's not forgiven, not by _anyone_ in her family, and her heart breaks a little further, because she just wants them to _see _the innocence of two teenagers, scarves entangled in the wind, fingers intertwined, cheeks cracking from rambunctious laughter.

They chase each other now, all around the lake, casting ridiculous sounding spells ("Impediasplenda! Wingfartium mucosa!") and it isn't until she trips into the water and re-surfaces covered with impossibly netted seaweed that she realizes what joy is, and she suddenly knows that she's never had it properly until now –

- and there's this funny squeezing in her chest, but she can't tell if it's from _him _or _her _or simply herself for yearning to be _all _silver and yellow and green and black, _Merlin_ she's a _Black_, what _is_ she doing –

- he pulls her onto shore, _looking_ at her with those marvelously hazel eyes (all flecks, she thinks, of every colour available) and _holding_ her with those sweet, gentle hands, and the heavy feeling dissipates. Of _course _she knows what she's doing. She's an _Andy_, and he's a _Ted, _and together they whisper their spell, the one they laboured over every night of Astronomy instead of taking notes. Streaks of light whisk past their faces, and amidst the showers of aquamarine she _knows_ that's all the colour she will ever need.


	2. brown

Brown: it's that dirty, _filthy_ colour, the colour of waste, of a _Mudblood_, of someone who's been raised with perfectly mundane people who knew nothing whatsoever of magic.

But it's also the colour of shared Chocolate Frogs, deftly passed in the halls when no one can tell because she's a _Black_ and he's, well, _not_. It's the color of their first meeting, when her _sister_ stuck out her foot in Hogsmeade and _plop!_ There he was in the street, robes all soiled, yet _she_ had lingered with some miserable excuse about tying her trainer (that's how he knew she wasn't like the_ others_) and helped him up without a single word. It's the shade of _indescribable_ comfort, when his Pops owled about Mum not making it, and she was already_ there_ with open arms and inexplicably, a Muggle donut, his favorite sweet.

It's also her stockings, he discovers after their excursion by the lake, because the grimy water soaked her robes and she's suddenly struck by _something_ and can't recall the cleansing spell. It's the way he can rest his head just on top of hers, and how their words are soft and gentle, and he feels like he _always_ does when they're so close, he really doesn't _deserve_ someone as powerful, as beautiful, as _striking_ as her. But as his eyes attempt to discern her features in the approaching dusk, he realizes that brown is _natural_, like the earth beneath his feet, and the messages they shared inside the Frog wrappers, and all those times they mucked up their finals because they spent their nights in the Astronomy Tower _instead_.

They whisper their spell together, and she's so mesmerized by the flickers of aquamarine that he's positively breathless, and it isn't until she pokes him in his rather rotund belly that he realizes it's time to return to his Hufflepuff home and her Slytherin chambers. He follows her slender form in the darkness, choosing not to tell her about the one remaining star of their spell caught in her hair.


End file.
